


Lost Lilies Out Of Mind

by kangeiko



Series: More Joy Day 2019 [4]
Category: Gone With the Wind - Margaret Mitchell
Genre: F/F, Family Dynamics, Gen, sibling relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-11-06 02:23:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangeiko/pseuds/kangeiko
Summary: Ella doesn't talk about her sister.





	Lost Lilies Out Of Mind

**Author's Note:**

> For tabaqui, as part of More Joy Day's fic offer.

Ella had the feeling that Lillian was trapped in a situation she had not intended. She’d asked the question in all innocence, and she had likely expected… well. Perhaps not. It was a common enough occurrence, after all.   
  
“How old were you?” Lillian asked, her hands hesitating over the embroidery. She spoke quietly, as if she knew that the question was a transgression, her eyes flickering between Ella and the photograph over the mantelpiece.  
  
Ella thought about it. “It was just after my ninth birthday,” she said slowly. She did not pause in carefully picking out the lily of the valley motif on the decorative cushion. “My mama was still recuperating - she had been ill for some time - and so there was no party that year.” Nor the year after, now that she thought about it. Neither Ella nor Wade had seen much of anything joyful for some time afterwards.   
  
Lillian made a noncommittal sound. She had not picked up the needle again and merely watched Ella, her head inclined to one side.   
  
She looked a little like an overgrown bird, Ella thought, with her neck bare and all her hair piled on top of her head. It looked elegant when Ella’s mama did it, and yet somehow it didn’t suit Lillian at all. She’d often thought this when she looked at Lillian, but had not thought of the best way to bring it up in a way that would not be hurtful. Ella’s mama had always been forthright in her opinions of Ella’s dress and behavior, and although that truth had not often been kind, it had been instructive. Ella’s own dress and deportment was - she knew - impeccable.   
  
In any case, what could Lillian do with the information, even if Ella found a way to tell her? She could not have a new trousseau made up, and although it did her no good to sit in a dress that did not suit her, it would do her even less good to do so and to  _know_  it. It would take away what little color she had in her cheeks, and Ella could not bear to do that.  
  
No, perhaps it would be better to keep her opinions to herself, and to merely offer Lillian a ribbon or other small frippery that would flatter her complexion.  
  
Perhaps she could loan her the brooch that Mr Butler had bought her for her sixteenth birthday? She did not often wear it, and it would look charming on Lillian.  
  
“You’re distracted,” Lillian observed. She set the hoop to one side and moved so that she was sitting beside Ella. “I upset you. I should not have asked; I am sorry.”  
  
“No! I - no, dear, you did not upset me.” She didn’t even know why she was out of sorts. It wasn’t Lillian’s fault, and the question was natural, after all. Lillian had met Wade, and she had met Cat. It was reasonable to suppose that the girl in the photograph was Ella’s younger sister. (And she had been right, hadn’t she? Just not in the way she had supposed.)  
  
“But, your sister…” She reached out and laid a hand atop Ella’s.  
  
 _My sister,_  Ella thought,  _was the apple of my mother’s eye. She was the one child she loved, the one she cherished._  
  
 _And she was all of those things only after she was dead._  
  
She did not want to talk about Bonnie, the baby who had never grown up, who had been so beloved of Mr Butler. Perhaps, she thought, if Ella’s own father had lived a little longer, she would have known what it was like to be so beloved. Perhaps if Ella had been the one who died that day, she would have been the one to break her mother’s heart.  
  
“I never knew my sister,” Ella said roughly, her hands finally still beneath Lillian’s. She looked down and saw that in her haste, she had made an error in the stitch-work. She would have to unpick it as it would be obvious, even from afar. “She died when I was young, and she was yet younger.” Lillian’s hand was cool where it touched her skin, the fingers fine and beautiful. It was the one truly beautiful thing about Lilian, she thought, not for the first time. That, and her eyes, which were large, and kind.  
  
“I  _am_  sorry about your sister, Ella,” Lillian said softly. Her hand tightened over Ella’s. “I should not have asked about her.”  
  
Ella looked up at that, startled. Her gaze was drawn invariably to the mantelpiece, where a faded photograph took pride of place. Mr Butler had decided on the photograph on the occasion of Bonnie’s third birthday, and had ordered copies for all of the children. Bonnie looked awfully smart in her birthday frock with the sash - it had been a blue sash, the same color as her eyes - and Wade looked terrified as he gazed at the camera. Ella, standing by Bonnie’s side, had an unfocused expression on her face. They’d had to stand a great deal, and Bonnie had started to squirm by the end. Worried that they would ruin the photograph - and not being terribly sure what that would mean, but Wade had implied that they’d suffer loss of life or limb if anything went wrong - Ella had kept Bonnie still by pinching her arm and murmuring that she’d stop if Bonnie kept still. It was why Bonnie’s expression was so stormy in the photograph.  
  
Afterwards, she had turned on Ella and with babyish venom had declared that she hated her. (She had looked eerily like her mama - like Ella’s mama - in that moment.)  
  
For her part, Ella wished that she had less than perfect recall of that day, and of Bonnie’s expression. It was the only image she had of her, and one of the only mementos. Ella’s mama had had kept most of Bonnie’s things, and Mr Butler had kept the rest. For Ella and Wade, there had been precious little left, and for Cat - born some years later - there had been nothing at all. Perhaps that was for the best. At least Ella and Wade had known Bonnie; what must it have been like for Cat, to know she came second to a dead girl?   
  
(And Ella? And Wade? Some place after that, Ella supposed.)  
  
Perhaps she  _should_  put the photograph away. Make Bonnie stop staring at her with that angry expression, her hands clasped and her hair in careful ringlets.   
  
Lillian was still watching her with a soft expression, her hand over Ella’s. She really did have very pretty eyes, Ella thought. And it was sweet of her to ask, even if it had gone a little wrong. They hadn’t known each other for  _that_  long, after all, and Lillian had been ever so kind to her, even when she’d had no reason to be.   
  
“It doesn’t matter,” Ella murmured. She turned her hand over, letting Lillian’s fingers fit over hers. “It was a long time ago.”  
  
From this position - her head bowed and Lillian’s hand in hers - Bonnie’s expression looked a little less stormy, Ella thought. (But perhaps she was imagining things.)  
  
Lillian did not pull away, and seemed content to sit beside Ella, hand in hand.  
  
(Perhaps not.)  
  
*  
  
fin


End file.
